Before the Gates of Death
by PippinStrange
Summary: In a land of myth, and a time of magic, a tiny village called Ealdor was home to a young warlock and his best friend, William. These are the tales of William before an untimely death and a friendship lost. Set before "The Moment of Truth" Season 1.
1. Magic

_**Before the Gates of Death**_

_**by Pippin Strange**_

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><p><em><strong>In a land of myth, and a time of magic, a tiny village called Ealdor was home to a young warlock and his best friend. His name was William.<strong>_

* * *

><p><em><strong>First episode,<strong>_

_**In Which Will learns that Merlin has Magic**_

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><p>I remember the day I fell from a cliff and broke my leg.<p>

I wandered far from the village that day, having become too restless and was causing trouble amongst those who were working. I trampled a new budding bed of berry plants (how was I supposed to know it was alongside the road?) and then nearly frightened old man Simmon's into heart failure when I almost torched his crop while I was hunting slugs. Finally, nearly three or four people all shouted for me to get out. "William," one woman snarled, "You've got the devil in you." Another called out, "You sure you're meant to be a farmer, boy?" They didn't mean anything by it, it is not as if the whole town hates me. But I felt disliked by everyone by this point.

Hunith—though quietly, and she hadn't known I heard—whispered to her son, "It's a horrid shame his father is away in the fighting. After his mother died—I was sure that he'd turn out alright, his father is a good man. But now—without him—he needs a hand to guide him, and encourage him. Cenrid's war is lasting far too long. His father needs to come home."

Her son looked across the paddock towards me, where I leaned against the well, and watched them with an unreadable expression. Merlin was his name, and a friend he was, but he was always secretive and sometimes—I fancied—a liar. Living in a tiny village with only seventy people, though, meant there was very little to lie about. And so we got along just fine.

But today Merlin was not causing a ruckus with me. As of late, he'd grown quiet during his usual jokes, or attentive and careful where he had once been careless. I asked him what had changed, and he said, "Nothing changed, I've been this way since I was born. I'm just trying to figure out how to grow up."

When I looked at him dubiously, he added, "I don't know if I can be a farmer, Will."

From that moment, I knew he would one day leave the village, and I would be trapped to raising crops my whole life. To have spoken those words was to admit that he would someday travel and find an apprenticeship somewhere, or become a soldier. (Even though he was never the fighting type.)

Nothing would be exciting or new for me. I had no prospects, or anywhere to go. I had to stay and await my father's return, care for the farm and crops, and care for some of the widows that lived here alone—as is the proper thing to do for any men who can provide for others.

Everything would become habitual and stable. Maybe I shan't even marry.

Merlin's eyes seemed to apologize for his mother's concerned comment being overheard. I couldn't seem to accept it, anyhow, and made my way down the road. I passed out of the village, and began to climb in the hills. Paths wound from deer-trails and walking-lanes that carved the way to great places—such as Camelot, or Cenrid's wicked kingdom—and I chose no particular one.

Blinded by some kind of overwhelming sensation, not tears but very much like it, I covered a great distance in very little time. Before I knew it, the sun was going down, and I was miles away. I figured I ought to settle down and camp in a cave or under a tree for the night. Before I knelt to scratch a bit of flint from my pocket, I thought, perhaps I should investigate the area a little further. Either find a better place to sleep under shelter, or maybe there is a hunter's tent down amongst the thicker, dark trees.

It was then that the ground beneath me suddenly was not there.

The terrain was hilly, to be sure. I hadn't thought that the bramble I stepped into was quite as thick. But the bramble was growing at incredible lengths, some of it nearly sixteen feet high. What appeared to be leafy ground was nothing at all!

My foot went right through the top, and for a horrible black moment, there was nothing but free-fall into the thorns and twisted vines and the sound of my shout.

I hit the embankment beneath, and rolled out from under the bushes, and had no time to be relieved. I kept rolling and could not stop. I had come to the edge of a cliff and stepped off into darkness and couldn't possibly guess how steep it was.

My body was tossed down the mountainside like a child throws a rag doll in play. Each hit that jarred my body seemed to knock the wind out of me with renewed vigor, till my lungs stopped taking air. A blow to the head on a rock made me lose consciousness.

It was some time before I felt the fire in my leg, and a stabbing pain that throbbed from the ankle to my thigh. I hesitated, and finally opened my eyes.

I gasped in shock at the sight of a gray dawn. I had been in and out of a delirium for several hours, it seemed. I could vaguely remember night terrors, a crackling in the growth, fearing that I wasn't at the bottom of a canyon but actually on the edge of another precipice. I found it difficult to breathe, the pain in my leg was so intensely tearing my nerves to shreds. I'd rather someone had taken an axe to my leg and rid me of the feeling than to have fallen in such a way.

I was flat on my back, my head had miraculously landed on a patch of sparse earth. I could hear a stream trickling nearby, but it was hidden from sight by great boulders and chasm openings that marred the rocky sides of the thin valley. I hadn't remembered hitting any rocks on my way down.

My right leg was bent at an awkward angle, and hiding somewhere in the scarlet mess of blood, the bone protruded out. I felt weak and my head was weighted with bouts of dizziness and the urge to pass out. I just couldn't seem to move. The pain was too great.

Then I heard the sound of Merlin's voice call my name.

"WILL!" I heard, from somewhere, perhaps too far away.

"Here," I said, and it was barely a whisper. I inhaled slowly, and unleashed as loud a shout as I could muster. "DOWN HERE! IN THE…" the muscles of my leg suddenly suffered a spasm and I faltered into a kind of pathetic, inhuman cry.

"I'm coming!" his voice was so close. I could hear small rocks being shaken from their embankment and falling in a clatter down the same path I came. The glow of a lantern appeared in my vision.

"I've been looking for you all night," Merlin suddenly stepped down beside me. He arrived uncannily easily.

"How'd you manage to get down here?"

"I slid most of the way," he replied, sitting the lantern down close by and looking at me with an expression of horror. "I could see the carnage you left behind you—didn't quite go that way. There's a way up that is clear."

Merlin stepped around my body carefully and knelt at my leg. "This looks really bad, Will."

"Y-Yeah. I know."

Merlin took a red scarf from around his neck and tied it just above my knee.

"I've already lost too much blood," I said, the haze coming over my senses again. "I can't get out of here with that leg." I trailed off, and my head sagged.

"Will! Stay with me!" Merlin leaned close and gave my shoulders a shake. "I need you to see something."

"I'm sorry?" I was confused.

"If I don't do something, you'll die," Merlin said fiercely.

"Just… splint it with a branch… or something… can't you?"

"No," Merlin shook his head desperately. "I need to fix this. Let me try."

"Alright, alright," I said, taking a small stick from the ground in my left hand. I bit it, and squeezed my teeth together as hard as I could.

"You ready?" Merlin asked.

I nodded shakily.

Merlin held his hand over my leg. I ground my fingers into the turf and squeezed the dirt in my fists, biting the stick so hard my teeth began to pierce the wood. This is what people did when setting a leg, having something to bite helped channel the pain elsewhere. I expected that Merlin was going to attempt to put the bone back into place.

But nothing seemed to be happened. Merlin's hand merely hovered over my leg, but he was not touching it. The pain seemed to be improving a little. His eyes were alight with concentration, and—no. His eyes. They were truly lighter. They were on fire.

His eyes glowed, for only a moment, in a gold color. I felt a snap, and it literally felt as if my flesh around the broken bone was suddenly being woven together. In the stitching, horribly painful minutes, I moaned and writhed, trying to hold myself together.

In a matter of moments, my leg had been healed, and even the blood sopped up from the ground and had entered my veins again.

Merlin exhaled violently, falling back against the rock wall. "Whoa," he exclaimed, grinning. "This—this is the first time I've ever done that. I mean, I can move things. With my mind. See… and… well I've wanted to tell you for ages. I just didn't know how. And now…"

"And NOW," I interrupted, spitting the stick out, "You see fit to practice your—your—_voodoo _on my LEG?"

"It's… it's not voodoo…" Merlin hesitated, wondering if he had made a mistake.

"Look, Merlin, I'm not going to tell anyone," I said stubbornly. "You're my friend. I'll keep your secret. This is just a fine way to break the news, is all."

Merlin nodded. He agreed with me.

But having made my point, I sighed deeply. "Alright. So now that's out of the way. Thank-you for… well, saving my leg I guess. I could get up now, shall I?"

Merlin stood up instantly and grasped my shoulders, pulling me up to a sitting position, leaning me up against the rocky wall. He took off his brown coat and folded it, putting it to the back of my head. "Seems you hit your head," he said worriedly. "There's a lot of dried blood."

"Bruised more likely," I said. "Heads bleed like a gutted pig, but the impact is what knocked me out."

Merlin rested his elbows on his knees and narrowed his eyes. "We're going to wait for a few hours before we try to get you up and walking. I need to get you home but I'm worried you'll pass out and fall down the mountain again."

"Well—since we've got time. Have a seat," I said seriously.

Merlin sat beside me and turned his head towards the sun, looking at the pale grayness slowly evolving into a periwinkle blue.

"Alright, so what is this?" I asked. "You—you _healed _my leg. That's more than just fixing it. You've got magic, don't you? And powerful magic by the looks of it."

"I was born with it."

"And you've managed to keep it a secret for this long?"

"Yes. My mother knows. I think old man Simmon's suspects something."

"He hates everyone anyway. He'd probably have you run out of town."

"That's what Mother is afraid of, so I am forbidden to tell anyone."

"Will you tell her that you told me?"

"She'll understand I didn't have a choice—I hope."

"That means a lot to me, Merlin," I said, adjusted the coat behind my head and trying to relax my racing heart. My whole body felt as if it was returning to normal, but my head felt heavier and heavier. "That you didn't even see it as a choice. Because you really _did _have a choice. You could have tried to splint it and carry me back."

"But you're my friend," Merlin said loyally. "I just hope my secret doesn't burden you, or bother you. You won't treat me differently, will you?"

"Just don't act differently to me," I answered, "You're free to do whatever the bloody hell you want now. No secrets."

"No secrets!" declared Merlin, relaxing visibly.

"Ugh, my head aches," I put my chin to my chest and let it hang, trying to stretch the tight muscles in the neck. "But I'm sick of sitting. Let's get out of here."

"As long as you feel up for it," Merlin jumped to his feet and held out his hand, grasping my wrist and pulling me to my feet. I wavered unsteadily for a second, finally straightened, and tested the weight on my right leg. It was sore, _very _sore, but usable. I took a few steps, and had to limp along, but I was moving. My head throbbed, but my vision is clear.

"Merlin, you're a miracle-maker," I said with gratitude.

"No, I'm not," he said modestly, "I'm just… me."

Merlin showed me the path he took down the cliff-side. It was twisty and steep, but managed to climb up the shelf of the mountain at a steady rate. I was not forced to hike, but took the climb slowly and carefully. If I ever slipped forward, Merlin was right there was a random exclamation of "Yipes!" or "Whoa!" which made us laugh at his panicked overreactions. Our laughter caused horrible stitches in my side, and if we ever let our usual camaraderie overtake the situation, I'd forget myself and laugh much too hard. Then I'd have to sit down for a few moments, and catch my breath, before the pain in my chest subsided.

In a few hours, we were walking with some cheerfulness down the grassy knoll, under the oak trees, down into the outskirts of our village. Just before we reached the first field of corn, Merlin hissed, "Remember. No one knows but my mother. Let me break the news to her. If anyone asked, I found you in the Ealdor border-canyon with a twisted ankle, and…"

"Let me guess," I joked, "Don't mention the broken leg?"

"Yeah, right," Merlin nodded. "If you did, I'd say your wits must have been dimmed with the blow to the head."

"Perhaps I did imagine all that," I said warily. "I didn't, did I?"

"I wouldn't be a true friend if I tried to convince you it was in a delirium or a dream," Merlin replied. "What happened, happened. I didn't really confess to you that I am a sorcerer, but rather showed you. And you still like me somehow."

"Yeah, I don't know why though," I teased him. "There's nothing to like about you."

Merlin shoved my shoulder and nearly knocked me over, and hastily apologized and took my arm over his shoulders, helping me limp down the last leg of road between wooden fences.

"Unicorn's _horn, _what has happened?" cried the voice of Matthew, the village leader and elected council-head. He hopped from his horse's back and trotted towards us. "Has there been an accident?"

"Found him in the canyon, he fell and hit his head," Merlin said.

"And your leg?" Matthew looked to me, as if Merlin's word could never be taken at face value. Suddenly I understood the ill looks, and uneasiness people felt around him—as if they could sense his magic, but just couldn't put a finger on it.

"Seemed I twisted it up a bit, but nothing a little rest won't take care of," I assured him. "Nothing's broken."

"Though I'd imagine a few ribs are cracked," added Merlin.

"Merlin, you are a wonder," Matthew said, as close as he would get to saying thank-you. "You must be part blood hound."

Merlin chuckled amiably, but soon pursed his lips and fell silent. Matthew took my other arm and they carried me towards my home.

Matthew helped me into my cot once we were inside, and turned to Merlin, who stood looking on with concern. "Run along now, Merlin," he said kindly. "Send for your mother, she is more skilled in the healing arts than you are."

Merlin nodded with an ironic sort of smile and darted away. At once, Matthew bent down and looked at me. "Is that what happened?" he hissed. "You fell?"

I sat up on my elbow, and looked him hard. "What are you implying?" I shot back. "That is _exactly _what happened. Do you doubt me because I'm the troublemaker? Or Merlin because he is a hero when no one else probably bothered to think I'd need someone to save me?"

"I do not doubt you, and for the trouble—we all grow out of that. It isn't any of your doing, really." Matthew looked away and sighed. "It's Henith's boy. He is good-hearted. But there is something about him… I can't explain it. It's… not important. Do not give your attention to the thoughts of this worrisome fellow." He smiled benevolently. "I must trust my instincts, and that can lead to assumptions. Pay me no heed."

"I intend not to," I said disrespectfully, cringing as I said it. "Well—I meant—no offense to you. To anyone: I will not hear one _word _that is suspicious of Merlin's character. He's my best friend."

"I know, young one," Matthew patted my shoulder and stood. "I know."

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><p><em><strong>To be continued.<strong>_

_**In the next episode, a messenger of Cenrid comes to Ealdor—bearing an empty livery that looks too much like the armor of Will's father. **_


	2. Death

_**Before the Gates of Death**_

_**by Pippin Strange**_

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><p><em><strong>In a land of myth, and a time of magic, a tiny village called Ealdor was home to a young warlock and his best friend. His name was William.<strong>_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Second Episode,<strong>_

_**In Which Will Loses His Father**_

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><p>There is nothing that compares to farmland at dawn.<p>

I stopped raking weeds from the garden, resting my hot cheek against the cool of the handle for a moment, and looked to the east. The sun glimmered in a pale liquid yellow, hazy under the dark gray of morning, beginning to touch golden rays into far off places. The birds were singing, the air was frozen with mist and dew, and people were beginning to start on their chores. The sounds of farm work is pleasant, I'll admit that much. And to be working so long in the morning, I'd grown accustom to watching the sunrise, hot and sweaty already despite the cold temperatures.

It was some time before Merlin's mother found me carrying a pile of shorn tansy (a poisonous, yellow-flowered weed) out of her garden and into the compost pile.

"Will!" she scolded as soon as she stepped out the door. "You're not working in my garden, are you?"

"Yes mum," I said, cringing. "I was hoping to…" I paused, and let the thought rest before continuing. "I heard you and Merlin talking in raised voices. I thought it might be on account of me."

Henith looked around to make sure no one was looking. "Come inside," she asked, beckoning me through the threshold. I stepped in quickly into the fire-warmed cottage and took off my cap.

"Do you think anyone else heard?" she said, worriedly, standing tense and crossing her arms over her chest.

"No, no one, it was only because I was leaving Merlin's scarf by the back door that I happened to overhear. It was entirely my fault. I didn't mean to eavesdrop."

"Well, thank the Lord it was you," Henith sighed. "How is your leg?"

"It seriously felt entirely normal the next day. And though the ribs have taken longer, I feel much better. I couldn't lie in bed for two weeks. That's why I've started working again." I cocked my head and looked at her with a hurt look. "And I hoped you'd start speaking to me again. You've been like a mother ever since my own died—I can't _stand _being at odds with you. Or causing something between you and Merlin."

"Oh, dear heart, it is not your fault," Henith embraced me and pulled back, gazing at me with the sincerest of maternal care. "I've been unable to approach you because I did not know what to think. Merlin and I have never told his secret to anyone. When he told me that he had shown you—I was afraid for us."

"I'll NEVER tell anyone!"

"I know that now. I had to grow used to the idea."

"I thought you might take some time. That's why I wanted to weed your garden. Make amends for being drawn into your confidence so uninvited."

"Oh, William," Henith squeezed my arm and kissed my forehead. "You've such a kind soul. Merlin is immeasurably blessed to have you as a friend."

"And I him. I owe him my life."

Later that afternoon, Merlin and I gathered the smaller children in the village for a game. Near the tree line of the woods, there is an open field that we use for pastureland and not for farming. There, we lay branches in lines at either end, and oversaw foot-races and games of catch. Some of the younger ones wanted to joust with pointed sticks and ride on goats, but we shut down that idea right away and let them joust with branches that had soft, leafy ends, and on foot instead of using the poor milk nannies.

Amidst the squealing and laughter of a dozen children running about, I heard another kind of cry. This one was my name, and the voice was unrecognizable.

Out of the woods came the sound of hoof beats, and a man dressed in the royal colors of King Cenrid rode out of the main road. His horse was lathered with sweat and panting, which is an unnatural sound for these beasts.

He slowed now to a trot, heading away from us and into the village. His satchel bore the mark of messenger, and there was a great bundle tied to his saddle.

"Is there a William the Second here?" he was calling. People stepped out of their front doors, looking at him. They murmured among themselves and pointed my direction.

Without even trying to pause the game or notify Merlin, I grew entirely focused on the rider. I broke into a slow jog and left the field, following him into town.

"Is there a William here? A William II of Ealdor? This _IS _Ealdor, isn't it?"

"You're in the right place," I said, finally catching up. "I am William."

There was a feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach, but I let it sink out of recognition. Surely it was a message from my father, telling me that he would be home soon.

The bearded rider, dirty and sweaty, looked down on me with a sullen expression. "I'm sorry," he said crisply, "Your father's been killed in battle."

In a swift motion, one that I did not even know I could do, I jumped onto the side of the horse, grabbed the man by his collar, and jerked him off the saddle.

With a yelp he fell to the ground, and I held him up again, having some abnormal strength and stupidity in my adrenaline that pushed me to attack a man twice my size.

"Say you're lying!" I screamed in his face—his ugly, brutal face—that I wished to crush with my fist and leave in a crusty mess of carnage. "Who told you to do this? What's the real story?"

"You—you—_crazy!" _ the man spluttered. "See the notice for yourself!" he pulled a parchment from his pocket. He fell with a splat into the mud as I ripped the parchment from his hand and stepped away from the uneasy horse.

**FALLEN IN BATTLE AT SHORESNEY**

Zanich, vizier of Cenrid

Peter, priest of Cenrid

Henry, Prince of Aranith

Eric, Prince of Aranith

King Jacques of Aranith

Richard, Count of Aranith

Sir Thomas of Aranith

Freenan, merchant of Aranith

Rodrid of Sherwood

Cristofer of Sherwood

Kane of Sherwood

Tristan of Sherwood

Sir Eckonbraugh of Mallon

Sir Tusney of Mallon

Sir Ryder of Mallon

Petra, farmer, Mallon

Gus, tanner, Mallon

William, blacksmith, Mallon

Wynn, druid

David, druid

Magadar, druid

Jon McTavish, Scotland

William I, farmer, Ealdor

My fingers trembled. The last name on the list, the very last one. Each time my eyes roved over the letters of a name I was relieved that it was not the name of my father. And now here it was. Written in hurried script, with care to write the "I" so that they may know to notify the II.

Me. William II.

Will the orphan.

I folded the parchment with some care and let it fall to the man on the ground. Offended, he snatched it up, put it back in his pocket, and stood crookedly. "Here's his armor," he said without emotion, grasping the bundle from the back of the horse. He threw it to the ground with a clatter.

I watched him evenly, weighing the consequences of what it would be to kill him, and then myself soon after. But the man jumped onto his horse and rode away before I could fathom my own, tortured thoughts.

"Will," Merlin's voice was behind me. The children were, very silently, disappearing into their homes, ushered in by parents whispering, "Play time is over."

"Will," he said again.

I picked up the bag of armor from the ground, and walked stiffly away from Merlin, back to my cottage. I kicked open the door and Merlin followed me in, and I didn't bother to tell him to leave. He _knew_ I wanted him to leave. But he never listens to me.

The fitted cross-section of rods, in a crucifix kind of shape, had been standing empty by the wall for a long time now. With sickening normality, I unloading the pieces of armor and began to place them, one by one, on their hangings, the way they were supposed to be stored. My head throbbed and my heart pounded, but other than the blank thoughts of _This shoulder guard is a little dented_ or _That chest-plate needs polishing _I had no grief. I didn't feel sadness. I felt angry and sick, at first, and then felt nothing. I was hollow, only bones.

I had forgotten Merlin was standing by the door. He hadn't budged an inch.

It wasn't until I pulled out the faded, seed-yellow tunic from the bag—the last item—that something woke up in my mind. There was a rip in the stomach, not a long-lined rip that happens when you get your clothes caught on a fence. The rip was too small, and stained with blood, now faded to a brown. It was the piercing hole from a sword—the blade would have gone right into his abdomen.

_The glory of battle is not a sword thrust and a quick death, _say the ancient texts (that none of us have ever read, but it is quoted in our histories and legends). _For there is none. A man does not "die" in battle. A man spends the battle, and perhaps long afterwards, dying. The blade will pierce but the gods delay in taking the souls, delighting in human suffering—for it is a blessing to be mortal—a blessing they've long been jealous of, and they only imagine that a human rejoices in their battle wounds. But the man oft curses the gods for the wait, and wishes to be taken from their suffering._

"Think it hurt?" I finally voiced out loud, and my eyes finally filled. "How long do you think it took for him to bleed to death? Maybe three days?"

I turned and held the tunic up, showing Merlin the hole.

Merlin was perfectly still, but two great tears rolled down his face.

"I wonder if he thought of me," I added, turning back and hanging the tunic on the stand. I tried to wipe away a few wrinkles, but they were permanent.

"Will, I," Merlin's voice broke. He wiped his nose with his sleeve.

"Don't say anything, Merlin," my voice was growing shrill, a strange pitch-change that occurs before someone loses themselves in grief altogether.

"Will, I'm _sorry,_" Merlin whispered, shaking his head. "I'm so, so sorry."

"Not your fault," I said flippantly. "Do you want something to drink?"

Merlin cocked his head, more tears spilling over. "No. No thanks."

I could feel myself slipping into denial. It was as if a great rock was pushed from a ledge—much like falling from a cliff. A small shove ceases all that was once strong and still—and changes nature itself—into something disastrous, wrong, and dangerous. This denial feels logical when you are inside it, just as nightmares feel like truth even after you wake up.

"It's probably a mistake," I shrugged, sniffing heavily and rubbing my eyes. "These kinds of thing happen all the time. A mistaken identity, a misplaced messenger, a misshapen face…"

Merlin bit his lip. "Of… of course. That has happened before."

"You don't agree?"

"Not this time, Will," Merlin's face looked as if his heart was breaking, he seemed more grieved than I. "Not this time."

I felt anger again, I wanted to punish Merlin for not agreeing. How dare he call himself my friend? Friends are always supposed to look at the silver lining of a storm cloud, are they not?

"Some support you are," I lashed out, "Stomping what little hope I can retain."

"That's not my intention, Will," Merlin stood up, struggling to keep his voice balanced between calm and firm. "But I do want to help you. Let me know how I can help."

"Oh—right—you're a Warlock," I tapped the side of my head as if I had forgotten. "Brilliant. Why don't you go raise him from the dead?"

Merlin winced. "I can't… I can't do that."

"I know!" I slumped down at the table, completely missed the chair, and crashed to the floor. I looked around with surprise, and leaning against the wall, remained right where I was. Eventually I brought my knees close to my chin, buried my face in my arms, and fought heaving breaths.

Merlin sat down beside me and threw his arm around my shoulders, and just let it hang there. I felt myself dissolving into sobs, and with it came a sense of being blind and mute. In that place I felt lost.

My father and I had always been close. He was everything to me. When my mother died, my father did not withdraw into his sorrow. I was very, very young at the time—six or so—and every night I cried onto my pillow, and my father sat beside my bed, stroking my hair, singing in a rich baritone voice. It was his deep humming that brought me out of grief and into the peaceful kind of sleep that every child should have.

And when I was older, my father was my teacher, mentor, and best friend. I stayed out of trouble because his disappointment was something I could not bear. He was the one who encouraged me to befriend Merlin, the awkwardly long-limbed oaf who had no friends and always seemed paranoid. He taught me both farming and some of the skills he had acquired as a soldier in his younger years. My father was the tallest man of the village, barrel-chested with strength that rivaled that of oxen. He urged me to be a very hard worker, taught me that caring and providing for others comes before my own needs.

I remembered almost none of that now. Now, I thought of the way I behaved once he left—I didn't seem to have a handle of myself. Yes, I was the trouble-maker, but it was (usually) completely accidental. My father and I were always a team—if I messed up, he would too, and we'd make our apologies and work through it together. If he excelled, I did too. I readily admit my guilt of idolatry. I wondered sometimes if my father was a demigod.

My father left because of a mandatory call. Cenrid demanded that every province in the kingdom give up their best soldiers, for a border dispute with Camelot, and many other kingdoms seemed to be treacherous as of late. The ratio of people in the village determined how many should go. Mallon was a town, a six-hour walk from Ealdor, with a population of one hundred. Only their best soldiers went, which numbered about forty. Our small town had several able-bodied men, but none with the training. Ealdor's participation numbered one—my father. How lonely he must have felt—leaving that morning for Cenrid's convention—alone, on horseback, without a single friend to call comrade and fellow fighter?

Was he afraid?

Without him in the village, Matthew seemed to grow more timid and unsure of himself. He was the intelligence and gentle spirit who could execute any plan, my father the brawn who had all the risky ideas that turned into progressive ways to lead and farm. The two of them took care of everyone.

I was a crooked, awkward lad who couldn't do anything right without him. I looked forward to the day he came back—I'm only eighteen, I'm sure there is—was—more he could teach me. I was without my guidance, the thing on which I based everything in my life.

Again, I saw his face in my mind. I could see it pale and white. He was dead, on the green plain of a misty battlefield, his eyes remained open and glassy. His mouth hung open a little, and his hands were covered in blood. Suddenly his eyes shifted, and he stared right at me, and his corpse hissed, _William!_

I felt as if I was coming to, out of some darkness. "He's never coming back!" I said.

"No."

"Cenrid has killed him."

"He died in battle, Cenrid did not killed him."

"I'll kill Cenrid."

"That's treason, Will! You ARE safe here, but you _must _be careful about what you say. I don't want you to get into trouble."

"You've always been a paranoid one, Merlin."

"Yeah, yeah, I am."

"You know," I said, looking through the salt-encrusted haze around the room. "My father was the one who urged me to become friends with you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. He said, 'Why don't you go ask Henith's boy to go with you?' and I said, 'That's a horrible idea'. When he asked why, I replied, 'He's got something up his sleeve. He's different'."

"I was much more obvious when I was younger," mused Merlin. "I've learned to hide better."

"My father told me that the different people are the ones who need friends the most. Then from the first moment we talked, I knew you were a liar. But I liked you. It was strange for me to like someone who lacked honesty, my father was so strict about virtues. But he kept saying, over and over, 'Merlin is a good boy. I'm sure he just needs the right kind of friend'."

"How right he was!"

"No, he was wrong. You didn't need me. You needed no one. It's quite obvious—my father knew that _I _needed a friend."

Merlin sighed, and said nothing. He was standing at the fireplace now, boiling water for tea. He looked into the flames contemplatively, licked his lips, and said with a smile, "That's where you're wrong. I needed a friend too. Your father was a smart man."

"It hurts to hear the word _was. _Will it ever feel normal?" _And without the poisonous, burning sensation in my mouth as I say it?_

"Past tense is all that I've used," Merlin said sadly, pulling the pot out of the fireplace and setting it on the table. "I can only imagine the pain you're going through."

"And now we're fatherless," I said bitterly, "Both of us. We'll have to look out for each other."

"We already do."

I don't recall much after that moment, my world was tilted and soon every function of it would slide off the palette and into the stars. I found myself on my cot with no recollection of how I got there. My face was dark red and I had three different pulses bulging in my skull.

So this is what eternal crying does to a person… no wonder men are not supposed to show their emotion. It is the most weakening thing I've ever endured.

Four days crawled past. I don't recall eating. I stood stiffly in our little graveyard while Matthew spoke a prayer over a wooden headstone, carved and posted in a patch of grass where there was no one buried. I shook hands with everyone in Ealdor and can't remember seeing a single face.

"Will," said a voice.

"Hm?" I looked up at Matthew.

"What—what are you doing?"

I glanced around, bewildered. "I was… I was hoeing… the romaine patch…" my hoe lay abandoned beside me, and I was kneeling between the rows. I was staring into the dirt with such concentration, but I had no idea how long I had been there.

"I see," Matthew said uncomfortably. "It's—it's just that—you've been sitting here for about twenty minutes now. Staring at nothing."

"Have I?" I said blearily, struggling to my feet. "I'm sorry, I'll do better next time."

"Let me finish this row," Matthew clapped me on the shoulder half-heartedly. "Go take a break."

"No, I can finish it, it's fine," I picked the hoe off the ground and set to work again. "Can't be lazy, can we?"

"I hesitate to say this, but," Matthew coughed and pressed his fingertips together. "It has only been a week since news of your father. Already you've started working but your mind is wandering. It may be better if you wait a while."

"Is my work unsatisfactory?"

"It is not."

"Then let me work, Matthew, please? I can't be holed up for another second. To be alone with my thoughts… it's killing me."

"You seemed alone with your thoughts well-enough just now."

"It was… just a rest break, I suppose. My imagination wanders."

"You were in a complete stupor, Will! You're exhausted! Everyone can see it. You aren't sleeping or eating."

"I'm sleeping too much. The lack of exercise disrupts everything."

"MUST you go on like this? I just don't want you to go—" Matthew bit his lip.

"Mad? Are you afraid I'm going to go mad?" I laughed, and even my laugh felt forced and out of sorts. "Madness is relative. We're all mad." I began working again with a hot fury in my heart. Each weed that was cropped with the hoe was Cenrid's head. The head of a soldier. The head of someone I knew. My own.

* * *

><p><em><strong>To be continued.<strong>_

_**In the next episode, it is not Will that is in trouble, but Merlin. Merlin is usually so cheerful and makes amends, but this time, he may do something rash. **_


	3. Secrets

_**Before the Gates of Death**_

_**By Pippin Strange**_

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><p><em><strong>In a land of myth, and a time of magic, a tiny village called Ealdor was home to a young warlock and his best friend. His name was William.<strong>_

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><p><em><strong>Author's Note: Why no love, my dear reviewers? =) The lurker count is much higher than the feedback count ;) Thank-you to those who DID review, in answer to your questions: This is prequel to the whole of season 1, and Merlin comes back to Ealdor &amp; William in episode 10, the Moment of Truth. Also, my college IS out in the north as well. But I'm taking an "Advanced British Studies" summer course online. And I am working full time AT the university, so school doesn't feel over for me, haha! And also, Strange Things Happen is now updated. Working on chapter eight slowly but surely, got a page or so finished! ;)<strong>_

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><p><em><strong>Third Episode, <strong>_

_**In Which Merlin Almost Reveals His Secret**_

I sat in the barn with a knife, whittling a thin branch down to a very sharp point. Nearly all the bark was off, and the piece I held in my hand was smooth. Hunith would like this for spearing meat on and off the grid that she spreads over hot embers, so that the meat was charcoaled and crisp.

In a way, I felt as if I were in a constant state of repaying. I felt in debt to Hunith and Merlin, for the way they always made sure I had what I needed, invited me over for supper, and checked in on me daily. I didn't know how I could ever return these favors. I went through a time when I hoped to die, but fear of Merlin or Hunith finding me in a state of self-injury and thus ruining _them _for life kept me from doing anything stupid.

And that's how I saw it now: stupid. The sun still rises every day. The stupid cows still holler as if giving birth. It would be a horrible thing to do any of the things I considered. And it would not change anything: life would go on in Ealdor as usual, save my small crops would most likely fail, and Merlin would have to tease the children alone. I couldn't let that happen—the thought of life continuing on in Ealdor without my father was unbearable. But the thought of it continuing on without me, leaving debt and grief in the hands of my friends, was a worse thought still.

I pondered those friendships. They seemed to spring out of nowhere. But from what I hear the elderly say, it was always the best ones that seemed to be conjured out of nothing. And it's true—Merlin saved my life, and told me his biggest secret. Before that, he was a stranger, a weird acquaintance. After, he was my brother. Hunith took me in, acting the mother. Matthew never had occasion to speak to me before, except in greeting. Now he tried to advise me like a father. I regret admitting that I treated him with anything but respect, often casting his words aside, replying to him bitterly, and finally apologizing with the condition that he would leave me alone. I was slowly leaving my grief behind, but the anger stayed. I didn't know how to get rid of it.

"Will," greeted Merlin, walking into the barn. He saw the sharpened stick and hesitated. "What're ya doing?"

"It's for your mother, for cooking. Like it?" I held it out for his inspection. I tried to ignore the look of relief that crossed Merlin's face. He took it, held it up to eye level, and smiled. "This'll do the work for the festival tonight."

"Aye," I said, holding my hand out again. Merlin gave it back, and I began to sand it down with a rough stone. "I do hope to enjoy myself tonight. Really."

"That's good," Merlin sat down across from me on the top of a barrel. "Maybe you'll ask someone to dance with you."

"Uh… who is there to ask?"

"Well…" Merlin looked doubtful for a moment. "Um, Lilly is very pretty."

"Lilly is," I paused to think of an appropriate word. There was none. "Lilly is not… for me."

"Edgar's daughter, then."

"Wait—he has a daughter? Where has he been hiding her?"

"She just came from Camelot," Merlin suddenly looked guilty of something. "She was apprenticed there—to a seamstress. How nice for her, to be able to go…"

"Why?" I asked dubiously. "Is there something special about Camelot? That's outside of our borders."

Merlin seemed to twitch. "She's just… lucky to get away for awhile, that's all."

"Getting too big for Ealdor, are we, Merlin?" I joked.

Merlin nodded solemnly.

"Really?" I exclaimed. "Too good for Ealdor now, are you?"

"That's not how it is," Merlin protested, crossing his arms over his chest. "It's just that I think it would be interesting. To get out of Cenred's kingdom for a bit. Stretch my legs. Don't you ever feel like that?"

I shrugged. Except to find Cenred—and kill him, and maybe even some of his officers—that was the only time I'd ever thought about leaving for good. What else was there in life but ones' home? If one had no family?

"I guess I never thought about it—much," I looked away.

"Will, what if I told you that I didn't just entertain the thought," Merlin hesitated. "What if I told you that I am considering…"

"That's horse piss," I cursed, and then regretted my harsh words when Merlin looked hurt. "I mean," I back-peddled, mumbling now. "You're… you're my best friend."

"What I was _thinking,_" Merlin attempted patiently, "Is what if you—and I—found apprentice-ships in Camelot? What if we left, and made names for ourselves?" He looked relieved as he spoke. "We could have some adventure in this lifetime!"

"What about your mother?" I said, unsure as to why I was trying to make him feel guilty.

"She agrees with me," Merlin bit his lip. "She knows a physician that I could work for. I mean, I healed your leg, maybe I could be a physician too." At my look of holding back a smile, he added, "That's just the thing, Will—is that anything could be possible."

"There is nothing for me in Camelot," I said bluntly, tossing the stone aside. "Trapped here, trapped there. They say Uther is a tyrant. It's likely to be dangerous."

Merlin shrugged. "I won't know till I get there, will I?"

"Then you are going!" I thundered, surprised. "I thought this was all just—hypothetical!"

"I want you to go with me."

"Why? Afraid I'll do something stupid if you're not being my guard dog?"

"No! Because you're my friend! We'd have such great _fun _in Albion, Will! It's a prosperous place and they say Camelot is a…"

"I don't want to hear about Camelot," I snapped.

"Why are you being so STUBBORN?" Merlin was irritated now. "What is there to stay for?"

"Someone should watch over your mother."

"It was her—she thinks it's a good idea. Matthew and his wife will watch over her."

"You are a _warlock,_" I hissed quietly. "You're probably the best thing to _have _in a village. I mean—you've heard the rumors of bandits and rogue militia."

"So is that all I am? The guard dog?"

"Will _nothing _I say convince you to stay?"

"I haven't heard a single _good _reason to stay."

"Well I like that," I muttered, standing.

"Will, why won't you go with me? Just tell me!" Merlin asked desperately.

"I DON'T KNOW," I shouted. "Maybe I'm a coward. Maybe I don't want to leave Ealdor because it's the only place that has traces of my father in it. Maybe because I don't want to take any risks, I'd rather be comfortable and hide from further tragedy. Maybe because I feel like I owe your mother for everything she's done. Maybe because I'm still waiting for my father to ride back and say it was all a big mistake. Is that what you want to hear, Merlin? That my mind is so jumbled up with maybe's and what-if's that if I were to leave—it would drive me _mad _wondering about what was happening in Ealdor after I'd gone?"

Merlin was silent.

"Nothing to say?"

Merlin opened his mouth to reply, but I was already turning on heel and walking out of the barn, into the sunlight. I set the small spear on Hunith's doorstep, and found my way to the edge of the woods. Just out of Ealdor's sight, I sat and held my knees, thinking so hard that my forehead bulged with a migraine.

When I finally gathered enough courage to go back and apologize to Merlin, the peace that I had developed over the last few weeks was shattered. Everything I was told was a lie—about Hunith—about everyone.

I went to their front door and raised my hand to knock, but stopped when I heard raised voices.

"Mother," Merlin was saying, "It would really hurt Will to know how you felt about it. I didn't say anything."

"But you told him of my idea to send you to Camelot."

"I told him _I _wanted to go to Camelot."

"So—you lied to him, then?"

"I—I—don't know!" Merlin cried, with frustration. "Once I started talking about it… it sounded pretty good. Almost made it seem like my idea."

"Don't be angry with me, Merlin."

"I thought you and Will had talked? And gotten it settled?"

"We did, Merlin! I have nothing against Will. But I am still afraid, Merlin. I am very afraid for you."

"Are you angry with ME, then?" Merlin snapped.

"I was angry with you."

"Not anymore?"

"I couldn't bear to send you away if I was still angry. But Merlin, I was—furious! Furious that you risked your secret to heal something as simple as a broken bone. But we've had this conversation before. I don't want to have it again."

"Will could have died."

"Don't you understand," Hunith's voice was almost too soft to overhear. "I was not upset that you saved his life. That is heroic enough. I was angry that you broke your promise—the promise to never tell. You had to earn my trust back, Merlin. And instead of slipping away quietly—so that you can be safe—you blare the news to Will the first chance you get. Is nothing sacred for us anymore?"

"I thought you didn't want me to tell him because you were afraid he'd be upset with you. That's why I assured him it was my plan."

"I didn't want you to tell him because there are dangerous things involved," Hunith said sternly. "The road to Camelot is not a safe one. Travel is best kept secret. Especially in your case, Merlin!"

"Well, Mother, I'm _sorry _that I broke your trust again. Really. I don't think you understand how much I needed someone to tell. To talk to. I'd be better friends with him, but…"

"But what? Do I hold you back in your friendship?"

"Frankly, yes!"

"Your life is in danger, Merlin. You're too naïve to realize it."

"I'm old enough to make those choices for myself."

Hunith was quiet. "I know. That's why Camelot is the best place for you. Merlin, you can live with Gaius—you can work—you can make your own choices. You can be foolish and stupid and there is no one to stop you. I only hope that you use this opportunity to… to…"

"To do what?"

"To grow UP, Merlin!" she spat.

"I'd like that!"

"So would I!"

Silence followed. They probably both faced opposite corners, glaring at the walls, angry in that annoyed parent-child sort of way. They'd love each other again within a few hours. But my feelings? Mine were that of confusion, but also of enlightenment. Hunith didn't blame me for what happened, and that's why she hid her anger from me. She was rightfully put-out when Merlin told me his secret. And now, she wanted to send him away, and Merlin wasn't sure of going. _Faugh! Why are relationships and secrets so bloody complicated? Why can't we all be honest with each other?_

I turned away and began walking down the road. I'd not taken three steps back to my home when the door burst open and Merlin came barreling out, mouth set grimly and fists clenched.

"Merlin," I greeted hesitantly.

"Don't bother!" he snapped, marching past me. He headed for the same patch of woods I had just taken refuge in.

"I _just_ wanted to _say_ I was _sorry!" _I called sarcastically after him.

"Thanks!" he shouted back, with the exact same tone.

Later that night, I lay stretched out on my cot, with a white patch of moonlight blinding me from my sleep. I rolled over and tried to keep my eyes shut, but the brightness from the window was just unbearable.

"Ugh," I groaned, flopping around. My life seemed to be turning into a series of bad days. It couldn't get any worse though, right?

The moonlight flickered, and deepened with a warm yellow. I blinked, wondering if it was my imagination. Then I heard a deep rumbling, not quite thunder and not quite an earthquake (it seemed to hover in between the ground and the sky) followed by a scream of surprise.

I shot out of bed quickly, tugged my boots on, and threw open the door and joined a crowd of people leaving their homes and looking to the trees.

"Did you see that?" they were all saying, repeating, echoing each other. "Was that lightening? Is there a fire?"

I could only think of one thing that would make the light change like that.

_Merlin's magic. Oh, god, please help him not do something stupid…_

Hovering over the woods was a wee bit of smoke, or mist, drifting under the moonlight. There was no sign of flame or any color except the blue of midnight and the naked moon.

I headed for the woods.

"Will!" Hunith's voice echoed after me. I turned, and she caught my arm, whispering hoarsely, "Merlin's gone out—he hasn't returned."

"I'll find him," I said, gently unlatching her hand and taking off at a run.

"Careful, Will!" Matthew called after me. "We don't know what that was!"

"I'm sure there is an explanation," I called over my shoulder. "Just let me check it out." I ran out of the gate and into the field, jumping over the tall grasses clumsily like one tries to run in shallow water.

Merlin was just stepping out from under the trees, holding a few branches loosely. His eyes looked wide and feral. I ran up to him, calling, "Merlin! What was that? Are you all right? Were you using m—" I clamped my mouth shut when I realized Merlin wasn't alone.

Old man Simmons—the crankiest, most suspicious old badger in all of Ealdor—followed Merlin out of the woods. He looked like he wanted to kill someone. His lower lip stuck out as lips often do when the owner is bent on punishment. His eyebrows were jammed low over his eyes and his shuffling gate was more irritated than usual.

"I mean, what happened?" I rephrased my question.

Simmons' eyes glinted with the rage of a thwarted busybody. "I found this boy doin' somethin' suspicious," he growled, poking Merlin's back with his cane. "Walk on! We're going to see Matthew."

"I can explain," protested Merlin.

"What happened?" I yelled in frustration.

"I don't have to tell _you,_" Simmons sneered. "You're probably in on it, likely as not. Back to the village—both of you!"

I darted past his eager cane and went just under the tree line. There didn't seem to be anything unusual as I looked around—nothing at all. The moonlight filtered into the black of the forest, lighting up what appeared to be a felled tree. Upon closer inspection, it was a tree, recently cut at the trunk. Nearby was a discarded axe, and a torch, still smoldering and leaving ashes on the ground beneath it. _What the devil?_

I picked up the axe and the torch, rejoining Simmons, who had decided to wait for me. "Seems you forgot evidence," I said crisply, pushing past him and going back across the field. With a growl, he followed, and Merlin lagged behind us, third in the line of trouble-making ducks.

Matthew—and half the town, it seemed—was waiting for us at the edge of the field. "Simmons? Merlin? What seems to be the trouble?" he asked.

"This young _pup,_" Simmon's snarled, "Worked some kinda hocus pocus and brought a tree down ON MY HEAD!"

"Now hold _on _a minute, you old heifer," I growled. "That's a serious accusation! How is it that massive tree fell on your head and you're still alive?"

"William!" Hunith scolded. "Please."

"Everyone, hush," Matthew held up his hands. "Simmons, surely a tree didn't fall on your head."

"Well, it woulda, if I hadn't jumped outta the way!" Simmons barked. "Big flash in the sky rumbles like the end of the world, and this _fledgling _is standin' there with his arms out, like so," here he demonstrated. He looked like a pathetic imitation of a crucifix. Merlin would have rolled his eyes, if he could have wiped the hidden terror out of his eyes.

"Then the big ol' tree comes right for me! I jump clear outta the way and confronted my, my," he struggled for the right word. "_Attacker!"_

Matthew nodded solemnly. "Alright, Simmons. Now, Merlin…"

"Matthew," began Hunith.

"Please, Hunith, wait a moment," Matthew said patiently. "I just want to hear from Merlin what happened."

"Can't you see his face?" Simmons raved. "He's a born liar, that's what! He's a devil, I tell ya!"

"Shut up, old man," I stepped towards Simmons threateningly, unable to contain myself.

Then, several things happened at once. Simmons did not retreat, but stepped forward as well, probably hoping he could throw me over his knee and give me a belting. In his face, my mouth frothed with a beautiful stream of insults, but they were never made public. With a cry of "Will, that's enough!" Merlin grabbed my arms, jerked me backwards, and laid me flat on my back.

Lying in the dirt, shocked, I stared up at him.

"Please!" Merlin said loudly. "You're NOT HELPING. Can't everyone just calm down?"

"He's right," Matthew said loudly, glaring at both of us. "Simmons, can't you keep your temper for once in your life? And Will, I _order _you to return to your home. Right now."

I jumped to my feet, brushing myself up, and shot a venomous look at Merlin. "Don't put up with _his _horse piss," I pointed at Simmons. Simmons squinted at me with a smirking glare. I pushed past him, and past the crowd, and went into my house. I shut the door behind me, and then dropped silently as a feather down to the floor, and pressed my ear to the crack beneath the door.

"I'm sorry my friend has such a short temper," Merlin said stoically.

"Which one are you talking about?" Matthew chuckled, and the rest of their audience followed his example.

Simmons's satisfaction at my exile quickly melted. "EY!" he screeched. "I AM NOT TO BE MOCKED!"

"All I ask is that you listen to Merlin, my friend," Matthew seemed to be slowly calming him. "Merlin?"

"I was just out trying to get some wood," Merlin said, in a monotone. "I started axing a tree. It was just nearly ready to fall down, when I saw a flash and was afraid it was lightening. Before my tree could be struck, I pushed it as hard as I could to quicken it's fall. Before I knew it, Simmons is standing there, screaming. I really was afraid I had hurt him, but the tree had fallen the opposite direction. No harm done. Will brought my axe and torch back—see?"

"That seems reasonable enough," Matthew said in a serious tone. "But what of the—the—well, Simmons impersonation of your—attitude?"

Merlin's voice _finally _took on a relaxed, humorous tone. He was learning to act better—hopefully he'd improve before venturing out on some suicidal pilgrimage to Camelot.

"Oh, that," he chuckled, "Um… well, I do really strange things when I'm scared. When I saw the lightening flash I panicked. I can't say I remember exactly what I did but I felt my limbs going all over the place—that is, till I threw my full weight to the trunk of the tree to knock it over."

"Simmons, there you have it," Matthew said amiably, but his voice seemed to have a degree of doubt. Just a sliver, mind you. But I could hear it. "The boy was merely as scared by the lightening as you were. Merlin, might I suggest that if you see lightening, you forget about the tree? Get to some _shelter _next time, boy! And Simmons—SIMMONS! Where are you going?"

"You're all mad! MAD, I tell you!" the sound of a door slamming echoed throughout the main road, and I heard a few more chuckles—some of them sounded uncomfortable, some were rather forced.

"I'm sorry, Merlin," said Hunith. "Simmons has always been that way, ever since he was your age."

"I'm sorry too," Matthew said, "Not for his behavior, though. I'd say his fear had perfect grounds to exist. But I do apologize for the public trial and… Will's outbursts."

"If Will isn't careful," Hunith said, "He'll end up just like Simmons."

"The similarities ARE uncanny," Matthew added. "I see less of his father in him every day."

I pressed my forehead into the wooden floor, surprised at where the conversation had gone. I felt hot tears burn the flesh down my cheeks.

"I think everyone is too hard on him," Merlin interjected, "Myself included. I hadn't meant to shove him. I accept your apology, Matthew, and I'm sorry for all the trouble I've caused. You know I actually…" here, their voices dropped down too low for me to hear. I cursed their volume and pressed closer to the door, straining to hear.

"That's interesting news," Matthew said ponderously.

"I want to say sorry to Will," Merlin said.

"Best leave it till morning," Hunith suggested.

"It needs to be tonight," Merlin said stubbornly. "You know what I must do in the morning."

"It will be for the best," Hunith said.

Matthew mumbled something unintelligible. "… improved by that time," he raised his voice, and my brain screamed with curiosity at what he said. "And it will be a better home."

"A better home?" I muttered. "Are they installing a tub or something?"

"Glad you understand, Matthew," Hunith said. "We should all get some rest now. Merlin, I'll see you at home."

"Goodnight, Hunith. Merlin."

"Night, Matthew."

I scrambled up to my feet, eyes stinging and hands shaking. I walked stiffly over to my bed and removed my boots. I sat on the edge, listening to the footsteps as Merlin approached and opened the door without knocking.

He stepped, shut it behind him, and stood there with his arms crossed.

I stared at the floor.

"Sorry I lost my temper," I said shortly.

"Sorry I shoved you, I'm stronger than I realized," Merlin said, fighting a smile.

"What's so funny?" I snapped.

"Oh, Will! We can't always be so dramatic!" Merlin laughed in that _I can't believe this just happened! _kind of hysteria. "I can't live like this! Just… forget about Old Man Simmons. You're right, he IS a heifer. We'll laugh about this later, you know we will."

"Maybe one day."

"Please lighten up," Merlin sat on the edge of the table. "I hate seeing you like this."

"I heard what Matthew said about me… and my father."

Merlin sobered. "What else did you hear?"

"Honestly? That's all I can think about."

"In some ways he is wrong."

"But not all ways?"

"No. You're growing bitter. All we can do is watch. I've done all I can."

"I didn't want you to DO anything."

"It's my nature I guess! I always have to help!"

"No you don't, Merlin."

Merlin paused, and looked as if he were about to say something.

"What?"

Merlin looked at the floor, and chewed over a thought, before saying carefully, "I need to know that you'll take care of yourself."

"Sure, Merlin."

"I mean it!"

"So do I."

"Thanks for trying to stand up for me, I won't forget it," Merlin said.

"Why are you talking like this?"

"Like what?"

"'I can't live like it', or 'I won't forget it', or 'take care of yourself'. It almost sounds like… like…" I paused, but shrugged the thought away. _No. He's not saying goodbye. He might be a riddle but at least he's honest._

"Never mind," I said, trying to put on a good face, for his sake. "I'm—I'm sorry, Merlin—don't pay me any mind. Really. You've got enough on your plate. And… I don't want to hold you back," the last sentence was the only sincere statement I made. Of course I was sorry, but my 'never mind' was simply to try and put Merlin off my tail. He needed to stop trying to be a nanny and just be a friend. And I needed to stop _needing _the nanny type.

"Mean it?" Merlin asked quizzically.

"I'm just tired, is all," I said. "We can raise hell or do whatever it is we do tomorrow. I'm not angry, and neither are you. We've said our bits. Though I'd say your evening is a smidge more exciting than mine."

"Will…"

"It's okay. Go."

Merlin backed towards the door, nodded unsurely, and finally left.

I slept fitfully.

When dawn rose, I waited till I could hear the chickens clucking in their early-morning rummage for compost and worms, when I finally rose, bathed, and changed.

"I will not lose myself," I said out loud, more than once, as if trying to convince the shadows in the corners of the house…as if each one hid the spirit of my father. "I will not be like Simmons, that old bugger. I'll make him proud… I swear it. Somehow."

And now, to see Merlin.

I would convince him to join me in the fields today, for right-proper work. No one could be upset with us if we were working our arses off, right? Who could be angry at the two most trouble-making young men in town if we'd pulled weeds from every garden in Ealdor? (Which wasn't much, by a long shot, but always helpful for the oldest residents).

The plan seemed simple enough. We'd work and let our bleeding palms let us back into the good-nature of our small town. No sense for Merlin to be despised simply because he insisted on being friends with me—the troubled, angry lad.

I knocked on Merlin's door, and Hunith answered. She was wiping tears away hurriedly.

"Hunith!" I said in surprise, stepping in without an invitation. "What's wrong?"

"He's gone," she said, simply. "My boy."

"Merlin!" I replied, aghast. _It was a goodbye. Damn, it WAS a goodbye! _

"To Camelot," Hunith sat heavily at her table. "Oh, William. It's a dangerous place. But—I know it is the right thing. I know it," she seemed as if she were trying to convince herself more than me. "With Gaius to care for him—he'll be fine. Won't he?" she looked up at me with all the insecurity of a lonely mother who'd sent away the only family she'd ever had. The sudden wonderment of where she came from, or who Merlin's father was, struck my mind—but it was quickly suppressed. It was none of my business.

"Of course he will be fine," I put on the brave face for her. She didn't deserve anything less. I leaned down and gave her a warm embrace, and she held me, almost unwilling to let go. "Hunith," I said after the prolonged second, "Don't worry. He'll be okay. He's got magic to protect him."

"Magic is… magic is dangerous in Camelot. I've told him not to use it. At all." Hunith said quickly. "Do you think that's wrong, Will? To send him to a place where Magic is illegal?"

"ILLEGAL?" I burst, floored at the thought. "Good god. Illegal? Merlin?"

"You think it's wrong of me?" Hunith said, sadly. "I wanted him to go to a safe city—Camelot is more secure than any kingdom in this world."

"He can keep it a secret," I tried to assure her. "It will be easier there—amongst people who don't know him."

"Do you think so?"

I nodded, biting my lip. "Sure, yeah."

But it was a lie.

"How long?" I finally asked.

"I hope," Hunith said sadly, "Forever. Ealdor is no place for him."

Even I felt like I could agree with that now. That's just it—Ealdor is a place. Not a home. There must be bigger things waiting for him. Something far greater or more exciting that Ealdor could ever offer. Ealdor was dull and useless.

With that thought, I left Hunith. My house remained empty as it ever was, and I knelt before the armor of my father, lifting a prayer up that Merlin would travel safely. I sighed bitterly but did not cry.

* * *

><p><strong>I am camping this weekend, so please leave all of your loverly reviews for me when I get back =) LOVE TO ALL! (that includes you lurkers!)<strong>


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